To Hell With It
by Innocent Magic
Summary: "It's not like I'd done it hoping he'd notice or anything. That'd just be pathetic. I was infatuated, not pathetic. Really, I swear." A drunken night sparks five months of uncertainty, drama, friendship, and maybe a bit of love. The true story of how two friends fell in love. Contains much swearing and vulgarity.
1. Of Drinking Games and Innocent Snogging

**Chapter 1: Of Drinking Games and Innocent Snogging**

Bugger! They'd expected me downstairs more than ten minutes ago, now, and I'd gone and lost the pair of earrings I'd wanted to wear. How was it always the little pearls that were hardest to find?

Actually, that was pretty self-evident, I imagine. Annoying as hell, tiny little balls of crap, but self-evident.

Then again, this whole commotion was annoying.

Yes, we'd won the Quidditch, but it was only the first match of the season, and it was only against Hufflepuff. It wasn't even that commanding a win. Our Chasers were pretty dire – and it certainly didn't help that I'd let in six bloody goals. Six. That's 60 damned points.

And to top it all off, Lily intended for me to 'doll up' and 'make an effort', the little wench. What was wrong with jeans and a Tornadoes shirt, I had no idea. They were comfortable, and they hid my hideously over-sized arms. You didn't have to suck in a gut when downing a Firewhiskey either.

The efforts had been made, though, and they had better appreciate my attempts to look glam. More accurately, I'd just made myself into a slightly glammed-up version of the usual Rose by brushing my hair and putting on some mascara, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that I was running a quarter hour late. Bloody Merlin, Lily was going to kill me if I didn't find –

- got them!

Right: adjust skirt, check teeth, out the door, down the stairs.

"Ready!" I shouted, bounding through the doorway of the fifth year girls' dorm.

Silence.

Where in Merlin's underwear was Lils? Ditched by my own baby cousin, that's sad. All I got was a blank stare from a mangy cat and a half dozen empty beds. Clearly she hadn't deemed me worthy company for that nonsensical party.

I couldn't blame her. I wasn't as... into that kind of a thing as her fifth year friends. I could drink with the best of them, to a certain extent, but not on a Sunday evening for Merlin's sake!

We were two completely different people, Lils and I. She was asked on dates; I was asked to pass the butter.

At least I was damned good at passing it.

I should have expected I'd be making my way down alone. I was grateful, if I'm honest. Lily would have turned the entrance into a spectacle, which I was never very comfortable with. There was only one person I wanted to notice me that evening.

"Hey, Scorp!"

He was just emerging down the staircase from the boys' dorms as I reached the last step. The music wasn't overly loud in the common room; the place was tightly packed and swarming with inebriated students, but not suffocating. Not enough that I could invent a reason to move any closer to address him. "Nice and early, you are," I said.

He flashed me one of those smirks that gave me butterflies.

"Hardly one to talk, Rose. Want a drink?"

Of course he'd brought a secret stash of Ogdens with him, the posh fucker. He didn't do Firewhisky or Gillywater like the rest of us. He was too refined. Up himself, I'd say. Either way, he's a lightweight.

And Ogdens is pretty good, if I was to be fair to him. I wasn't though.

"This tastes of Flobberworm swill, Scorp."

"Liar."

I stuck my tongue at him petulantly. "Can't you do shots like a man for once?"

"I'm not doing shots, Rose."

"Come on."

"No."

"Why?"

"No."

"Lightweight."

"Still no."

I grinned. Bloody nuisance, my best friend.

Guess it was time to suck up my disappointment and find a group of nice lads to settle in with for the evening. Nevermind that Scorpius was more attractive than the lot of them, or that said wanker hadn't said a word about my attempts at looking good.

It's not like I'd done it hoping he'd notice or anything. That'd just be pathetic, and I was infatuated, not pathetic. Really, I swear.

Crap.

"See you around then, mate," I smiled, clapping his elbow and turning away.

Was a compliment too much to ask for? I'd told him the other week that his Halloween costume wasn't awful – could he not have returned the favour this time?

Finding others to spend time with wasn't too tricky though. Moores and Wood were over by the study tables, goblets arranged in a convoluted arrangement. I smirked: drinking games were my forte.

Stealthily, I wove my way through groups of younger students hanging around near the sofas. A couple gave me a wave, a call of 'congrats' here and there. Not many people noticed the team Keeper.

It was going so well. And then the bloody footstool tripped me.

Maybe this party affair just wasn't meant to be. _Threstral Mistress_ playing on the wireless agreed; they tended to shout about things like that in their songs.

Hey, at least I got a couple of enthusiastic drunken laughs for my efforts. It was nice to make people happy, by whatever unfortunate and embarrassing means.

The bear hugs I got when I reached my targets didn't hurt either.

"Rosie!"

"Red!"

"Hey morons," I beamed. "Miss me?"

"Watch, Rosie! It's gobstones, but with Firewhiskey. See, like this." An exciteable Moores had me by the waist, and was splitting his concecntration between the squidgy little gobstone he had to flick into a goblet, and using me as a crutch.

The look on his face was almost adorable, if he hadn't weighed more than a baby dragon – his tongue was out and everything.

"Noo!"

His groan was drowned out by the loud cheer around us as the stone flew wildly off target. Some podgy third year was rubbing their head by the Portrait Hole, poor kid. With a sulk, Moores grumbled his way through the barely filled cup. Big baby.

This was what I enjoyed, this mesh of good mates and drinking games. I wasn't the sort for dancing in the spotlight like Lils, or staying out of the party entirely like Hugo and Al usually chose.

As Wood lined up to take a shot (and really, if he missed, I was going to force him off the squad), I imagined what we must look like – two burly, stubbled guys and their pixie of a redheaded friend. We'd been friends for years, the three of us. Ever since I joined the Quidditch team as Keeper, Wood's had me under his wing. I'm too tiny, he said, too vulnerable to sabotage.

There were plenty of places I'd shove his comments about being too tiny and cute if I could, but it was true. I was barely 5 foot, and not a threatening opponent to look at. My only real skill was being able to confuse someone enough that it distracted them from a shot – spouting off the origin of some Rune's translation had once been enough to ruin a particularly dim Slytherin's penalty throw. Good thing Quidditch wasn't my planned career.

Wood's stone landed right in the middle of the farthest goblet back, and Moores had to down yet another drink.

"Can I have a go, lads?" I asked, rubbing my hands.

"If you think you can beat us, lass."

Merlin, I don't think Dermot knew how sexy he could make that Scot's accent sound. Taking the ball delicately between two fingers, I lined up the perfect shot –

- which went perfectly two feet beyond the last cup and landed with thwat against the window pain. Better than hitting a third year though, right?

"Bottoms up!"

From there the night became rather confusing. There was definitely more gobstone throwing; very few landing where they should, from what I could remember. There was dancing, a lot of that. Someone had had the sense to turn change the station on the wireless to something less depressing than _The Scorched Cauldrons_, and a decent sized space had been cleared in the centre of the common room to become a dance-floor.

By midnight, I was front and center with the Gryffindor team, leading the room in a cheesy dance routine from back when we were kids (_arms in front, bare your wand, jump forward, back, two hops and turn_). That was the next time I saw Scorpius.

Scorpius, entwined in the Grindylow-like grip of Siomha Finnegan, snogging away with no care for their audience.

Blow to the chest, that. She was his type: tall and thin and girly. He looked so into it as well. The hope was gone, that glimmer of naivity that said maybe he'd look twice if I donned a skirt and a v-neck.

Clearly what he wanted wasn't me.

Could he not have just said so? Could he not have given me some warning that he'd be after Siomha's pouty lips and tanned skin? Normal best friends could share stuff like that. Why couldn't we?

Our dance was finishing, but my eagerness to start on Muggle songs had all but gone. My eyes were stinging slightly, my throat a little thick even though I knew there was no point crying over a boy who'd chosen somebody else, though. No point at all.

But I couldn't look away.

And suddenly, I wasn't just gazing forlornly at a kissing couple; I was looking directly into Scorpius' gorgeous smouldering silver eyes.

What in Merlin's underwear was he doing? Were we really going to do this, the watching game? I wasn't some sodding voyeur!

And if I were, it wouldn't be for him and that wench. So maybe wench was a tad harsh, but she wasn't a stranger to picking up a handsome guy. We'd been sharing a room for over six years now, and she'd never lasted more than a month before rushing in at night gushing sickeningly about whatever pair of 'masculine arms' had made her melt in a broom cupboard. Wood was absolutely enamoured with her though – probably something to do with her hips.

Why was I thinking about Scor's bint's hips?

Desperate, I grabbed the nearest arm.

"Oi, Diane, you look good tonight." Pause. She smiled. Good. "Fancy a snog?"

Without bothering to move anywhere more secluded, we all but dove at each other. Her lips were full and soft, as was the dark skin of her arms. Diane, a sixth year I spent Saturdays chatting about the Quidditch leagues with, was a strong-minded, downright sexy thing who, through no fault of her own, honestly believed that the Magpies would one day beat the Tornadoes. She also enjoyed a bit of fun at these sorts of events.

If Scorpius wanted to play this game, whatever game it was, then he'd bloody well lose. This was my forte, innocent snogging. Not much of a forte to boast, but I was fantastic at the 'kiss-and-act-normal' routine Siomha hadn't yet grasped.

And I wasn't thinking any of this as I parted my lips and linked my hands behind her neck. I wasn't thinking anything to do with her at all, I hated to admit.

There were still a pair of silver eyes almost glaring into my own. To hell with him.

We separated, flushed, to cheers from those around us. As if our housemates weren't used to our antics by now. If I'd felt less rejected by a certain blond git, I might have rolled my eyes.

But Scorpius and Siomha were gone.

To hell with him twice.

After that, the night calmed down some. The music was turned off, mess tidied away with some simple spell-work. Someone had chased the younger years to bed, while my lot were grabbing one last bottle each and settling on the cosiest seats by the dying fire.

I was cuddling into Wood's side, dozing off to the homely warmth of his sweatshirt, when someone sank into the space beside me. I didn't care to find out who. I was too comfortable where I was.

Too soon, my pillow started moving.

"Red? Red, lass, you've got to get up now. Time for bed." I could hear the yawn in his voice. Eyes still shut, I could hear myself mewling, clutching at the thick cotton as it tried to pull away from me. "I'll see you tomorrow, Rose."

The warmth was gone.

I couldn't be arsed with moving, not right now at least.

Going to bed would mean admitting defeat – Scorpius hadn't noticed I was a girl, hadn't said a word about my outfit at all. I could curse and shout at him (in my mind) all I wanted, but that still hurt. We weren't the sort of friends who would say something nice to each other too lightly, true, but I'm a girl, and other guys had managed a compliment and bloody hell, he was just a tosser.

"He's right, Rose."

Merlin's beard!

I jumped in my seat, eyes flying open. I'd been so caught up in self-pity and sleepiness, I hadn't noticed at all that it was Scor sitting next to me. His hand was on my ankle (of all places, my ankle!), and his hair was dishevelled. Probably form Siomha, I scowled.

"What?" I asked groggily.

"We should head to bed," he said, sounding all husky and delicious. Delicious? That was poor even by my standards.

Thinking back, I probably shouldn't have looked up at him then, blue eyes wide and innocent and sad. I probably shouldn't have bitten my lip, nervous at the serious face he had on.

I should have gone to bed there and then, and everything would have stayed comfortably the same.

But I didn't, and the next thing I knew, I was on Scorp's lap having the light of day kissed out of me.

Me. And Scorpius.

Dear Merlin, that lad could kiss. Diane had been sweet and playful; this was something else entirely. His hands were entangled in my hair tight enough to hurt. His mouth moved hot and fast over my own, down my neck, behind my ear. I moaned ever so softly, and he held me tighter.

Bloody hell.

I lost all control and thought, focused only on the words he was growling against my skin: "You look really, really fit tonight."

Maybe that's why I followed him up to the seventh year boys' room.

* * *

A/N Welcome to the almost-true story of a pair of best friends getting together. This is definitely RosexScorpius, even if Diane and the boys pop up frequently. Al will be making an appearance soon too, don't worry. Leave a review if there's anything you think I should change, or anything you'd like to see. Obviously the plot's pretty much decided already, being that, magic aside, everything that happens is in three year old 'diaries' (angry rants on my old laptop) and my head. The point of getting this down is my poor memory - a lot of details have been filled in over the past month by _my _Scorpius.

* Siomha, for non-Irish, is pronounced 'Shee-va', or at least it is in my family.


	2. Of Transfiguration and Stealthy Scheming

**Chapter 2: Of Transfiguration and Stealthy Scheming**

Morning came far too quickly for my liking. I'm pretty sure I'd only been asleep a few minutes before the curtains were being ripped back and the sunlight was assaulting me.

No, that couldn't be right. The girls in my dormitory wouldn't touch my curtains. Then what –

"What the hell is going on here!"

My arm stretched out of its own accord, scrabbling for an off switch for the screaming voice. All it found, unfortunately, was the arm of my very protective, very angry cousin, Al.

"Indoor voice, Potter."

Bugger, what was Scorpius doing here too? And dammit, he sounded good in the mornings.

"Why are you in bed with my cousin, Malfoy?" Al spat.

All of a sudden, I was being pulled out from under my hiding place under duvet, and was standing next to Al, shivering something violent. The Tower's not a warm place in November!

"For goodness sakes, Albus Potter!" I snap. "If I spent the night in Scorpius' bed, that's of no relevance to you."

"But Scor –"

"I'm 17, you prat! I'm fully clothed, still a virgin, and three bloody months older than you, and –"

A hand fell over my mouth, cutting off my tirade.

"I think he's got the message, Rose," that delectable voice whispered in my ear. I frowned; I was only just getting started. Sure enough, though, Al had that blush on his face that showed he knew he'd stepped too far for the moment.

He was always like that, the tosser, always needing to know what I'd been thinking when I'd done this or that. Clearly I hadn't been thinking, or I probably wouldn't have snogged my best friend until four in the morning.

Crap.

I'd snogged my best friend. The best friend I'd had a crush on since May. The utterly gorgeous best friend who was out of my league.

Seemed as good a time as any to sneak out.

Making a show of checking my watch, I mumbled something about borrowing a hoodie from Al (it would throw suspicion, I hoped) and legged it. Literally legged it. Nearly fell over Wood's trunk as I did, too. Let Scorpius deal with the aftermath, I decided. I had a fry-up to eat and Ancient Runes to translate.

My dorm, thankfully, was empty. Not that it would have been too much a problem had the girls been around: they tended to forget I was there anyway. We were all too different to get along; I tended to be a bit aggressive and tetchy to make friends with females anyway.

There were a few exceptions: Diane I could treat like a bloke; Anwen from Slytherin was great for a cheeky fag by the Quidditch stands; and Edith was a sarcastic mess with no clue – just my kind of person. I didn't enjoy the hugging and preening and fawning the girls went through to maintain friendships. I wanted the freedom to be disgusting and still be the most feminine there. I wanted it to not come up in conversation who I thought was fit. I wanted to discuss Quidditch statistics over lunch without being called anti-feminist for not supporting the Harpies.

Most of all, I didn't want to be constantly comparing myself to my friends. With guys, I was always the smallest and the lightest and the thinnest. I always ate the least (and not just because Wood and Moores could devour a small block of flats if they were allowed). And that was how I needed it.

Not that I was fat. I was just... never that happy with my appearance. My hair wasn't like Lily's or Roxanne's – there's had been a deep luscious red, whereas mine was a horrid shade of copper. I wasn't tall like my father, but I had his stupidly long nose and freckles and chin. Yes, the chin as well. The one that jutted out and made me look prideful. Still, it was better than Hugo's overbite.

So I wasn't the type of girl that turned a guy on. I'd been called cute before, until I'd banned my mates from using the word entirely.

Hence my closer friendship with the lads in our year than the girls: to about half the castle, I was always a more attractive option for a kiss than my testosterone filled companions. It boosted a girl's self-esteem.

By the time I was dressed in my short school skirt, crumpled white shirt and long grey cardi, a nauseous feeling was rising in my throat, and I was looking likely to be late for class. It would have to be water from the bathroom sinksfor breakfast, then – and maybe I still had a Sugar Quill somewhere in my trunk that could tide me over through my first few classes.

The bell rang.

There went that thought. And for the second time that morning, I was running.

Ancient Runes was, as always, frustratingly difficult. Or maybe I was feeling too lazy to really bother trying to understand. No matter the excuse, I still left the classroom stomach rumbling and with a three foot essay to write.

I hadn't had a chance to run into any of the lads, though, which was fine by me. It wouldn't last long, the blissfulness of not having to speak to any Gryffindors.

The walk to Transfiguration was too short for me to get a grip, to calm down. I didn't want to face Scorpius. What would he have said to Al? Was I in trouble? Was I being painted as a slut?

Merlin, I couldn't even remember who'd come on to who. I could only see kissing and whispering and being told I looked fit.

And that I had a nice arse. That had been a moment for the scrapbook, that one.

I took my place in the queue next to Anwen, a sturdy Slytherin chit with thick dark curls that I envied. She looked very much an outdoors kind of a person, all untamed and headstrong – and Welsh. I think her family had once bred Hippogriffs, back in the 1800s. An odd lot, the Faldepths.

She gave me an appraising look as I leant against the wall and sighed.

"I heard from the Puffs that you've been getting around, Little Miss Virgin," she smirked.

"Bloody Puffs. Can't keep their mouths shut."

"Neither can you, apparently."

"Oi!" Now that wasn't fair. "Not my fault my best mate planted one on me!"

Her nose crinkled, confused. Uh-oh...

"Since when's Diane been promoted to 'best mate'?"

Curse the gene that said my face should glow like a bloody Quaffle at any and every provocation. Or that I should have to stutter like a crackpot when put on the spot.

"I – no, that's not – look, it's... bugger it all up Grindlewald's sodding arse. I snogged Diane. That's what I did. Yes. I –"

"Weasley?"

"Yeah?"

"Breathe."

I did, and it didn't help. Well it did, but it didn't stop her shooting me that bloody grin. Thankfully, Professor Nott had come out to usher us in before she could say anything more.

She passed me a note as soon as we'd taken our seats, though, me next to her on the tiny two-person desks, with Scorpius and Moores together to the left of us.

_Go on then, spill. – AF _

Quickly, checking that Nott was fully engrossed in his lecture, I scribbled a reply: _Nothing **to** spill. – RW _

Barely a second passed before '_Clearly... – AF' _appeared in front of me.

I sighed, catching Scorp's attention rather unfortunately. Always looking for an excuse to cop out on a lesson, he was. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, completely ignoring poor Nott up front, scribbling something hastily.

Sure enough:

_Alright there Rose? –SM_

_Your handwriting's atrocious. –RW_

And it really was. Poor Mr Malfoy must have been at odd's ends over his pureblood boy's incredibly unbecoming script. A doxy could write more neatly.

_Piss off. Al's calmed down, by the way. – SM_

_How d'you manage that? –RW_

He'd actually managed to catch my attention with that one, and I gave up any pretence of caring about the proper technique for turning a hand into a foot. Not sure if that would ever be useful in any situation, to be honest. I usually needed more hands than feet if anything.

He took his time with the next one: _Used the frilly knickers under his bed as leverage. – SM_.

My cousin was a hypocrite. But evidently not as much a literal tosser as he'd led me to believe. Was I the only one in this castle not getting any? Not that I actually wanted to, _you know_, but I'd have thought my geek of a cousin would have been in the same unsullied boat.

_Resourceful_, I scrawled.

Stumped, I tried to think of how to approach the subject pressing on us like a herd of centaurs: the consequences of the night before. What I most wanted to askwas what our night had meant, but that made me sound too clingy, too vulnerable. Asking if it could happen again would be even worse. I wanted to know what he was thinking – but I didn't even know what I was thinking, dammit!

Yes, I liked him. Scorp was my perfect kind of person – grouchy and frustrating and gorgeous and sarcastic. He didn't hug; he rolled his eyes. He strutted around the place with his robes hanging over his shoulder like he was modelling for Gladrags. He had a heart purer than a Hufflepuff's, but hid it in fear he'd appear weak and feminine. Most importantly, he put up with me, found me funny.

Now that I knew he had such _skills_, all I knew for sure was that I wanted to go again.

I'd been used before, though. Dylan McLaggan and I had been really close friends throughout my fourth year (his fifth), until he took me into a broom cupboard and snogged me senseless. Even though I'd been head over heels for him, and every other cliché there was, that had signalled the end of our friendship.

Scorpius didn't know; very few people did, actually. Anyone who'd noticed our sudden distancing must have just presumed a generic teenage argument had occurred and that that was that. If only it had been so clean cut. Generic teenage arguments didn't often result in someone losing their faith in friendship, did it? That sort of trust went out the window until I'd met Scorpius.

Funny, that.

Still, he was gone now, thank Merlin. I didn't need the reminder hanging around me.

Two notes flittering onto the desktop interrupted my musing.

_You're thinking too much. -AF_

_What's up? – SM_

I shot a rueful smile and shook my head at the both of them, a little bit touched that they cared.

Telling them everything on my mind probably wouldn't sort anything out – what could they do other than laugh or balk if I said I was distracted by thoughts of kissing Scor again?

That's when it hit me: I needed a plan. Nothing would happen if I sat around pining. If I could come up with a good old-fashioned scheme, if I could engineer a situation similar to the party, I'd be able to get an answer from the blond wanker a foot away from me. He could kiss me again, or he could not; at least I'd know where we stood.

But what could I do? I didn't want to have to wait too long, but I couldn't seem desperate. A week? Could you organise a party in a week? And obviously it couldn't be me doing the organising – that would be too obvious. Thank Merlin for Anwen; bloody socialite probably invented the notion of a reasonless shindig. She could take good care of all that for me, though likely at the cost of an explanation and an invite to the Potter Christmas Ball (bloody nutcase and her crush on Fred).

Not infallible, but the plan had its merits, I decided. All that remained was getting the Slytherin on board – easy.

_Get a party sorted for Friday and I promise I'll explain everything? – RW _

The best reply I could come up with for Scorpius, though, after all that time spent thinking, was a feeble '_We still friends? – RW' _and a very fake look of indifference as I tried to copy down at least a little of the Professor's lecture.

It wasn't until the very last minutes of class, after the practical portion and after we'd been assigned our homework for the night, that his little natty piece of parchment floated down in front of me once more.

I couldn't be arsed to open it.

It wasn't that I didn't give a hoot what his response would be, more that the nerves were gnawing at me that we'd ruined everything. Only way to get rid of nerves was to tell yourself nothing mattered. That method kept me from getting hurt time and time again, ever since McLaggen, and it would work here now. I was determined.

We filed out quietly, the only noise the odd moan about workload. My next hour was given as a free – that meant a dull sixty minutes on my own in the library while the rest went outside for Herbology.

The day wasn't halfway through yet, and already I couldn't wait for it to be done.

* * *

**A/N** I really like reviews, so you know the drill. I'm suffering nightmares right now, and check my emails when I'm evading sleep - it's nice when they're not just filled with Aviva spam.


	3. Of Letters and Slytherin Parties

**Chapter 3: Of Dear Mother's Letters and Slytherin Parties**

Thursday morning brought with it a thoroughly expected but still unwanted letter from my mother. She'd been about a week overdue with her scathing rant about my father, I thought with a grimace.

The letters came around once a month, and had done since the middle of my fourth year. Or, more specifically, since April 12th at 7:52am. Why she couldn't suck it up and spill her problems to a psychiatrist instead of her daughter, I still didn't know. She'd always prided image over anything else, though, so far as I could remember of my childhood. It was always '_how do you think that made me look?_' when I was being told off. A psychiatrist likely wouldn't fit with the public's idea of 'the brightest witch of her age'.

It made me want to vomit just to think of it.

Regardless, receiving such a letter sucked. And it wasn't as though I could ignore it. My mother had been threatening more and more often lately to do something stupid, like run off with another man and ruin bloody Hugo's last few years of innocence. There was only one person I loved more than I hated getting those letters: my wee baby brother. He deserved not to know what happened in private between our messed up parents.

The last letter had been four pages full of reasons she thought she should have never married my father in the first place. The woman was a hazard unto herself when she was in that mood.

A hazard unto me, too.

I tucked the offending item in my bag, deciding I'd save the hassle for my free hour after lunch.

The morning was interesting enough as a distraction: Charms and Potions had always been exciting classes. More than that, they were good for a sneaky gossip behind the teacher's back, Charms especially.

No wonder it was my favourite class of all.

"Oi, Rose," someone behind me hissed. I say someone; I knew the owner of the voice instantly. And not just because Scorpius had sat in that seat in every Charms lesson since fifth year.

"Yeah?"

"What's this about Faldepth having a party?"

I grinned: my role in thinking up the whole thing had clearly been kept secret, as required. Just as well, to be honest – Anwen had gotten a lovely, slightly embellished story for her troubles, exactly as stipulated in our agreement. Damned Slytherins and their love of tight contracts.

"Friday night. Dungeons. That room by the statue of Huntelaar the Hag," I whispered.

"I'll see what I can do."

Git.

He knew, and he knew I knew he knew, how much I disliked not knowing things for certain.

Friday evening found me sandwiched between Moores and Wood in an expanded storeroom by the dungeons. It was Anwen's idea – not even Goyle, the cantankerous caretaker, ever checked this room. Probably because he'd been a Slytherin once too, or so the legend went, and knew what sordid things his house got up to in their spare time.

A slinky tune was playing on the wireless, and the three of us were trying to stay serious while shaking our hips every which way, but we're Quidditch players. I think my Aunt Ginny might be the only Quidditch player who could ever dance like a human being. The three of us looked like we'd been bred from giants.

So it was inevitable that we wouldn't make it through the song. The couch looked inviting enough.

Curling up against my two good mates, I was content. Not happy, because Scorpius hadn't turned up yet, but content.

"Great idea, this party," said Moores from my left, running a hand through his mop of dark hair.

"Aye, I needed a break from studying," agreed Wood sombrely.

What?

"You've never picked up a book in you life, you lummox!" Moores laughed, reaching over me to hit the guy's chest.

Think fast, Rose, or this could end with you being bruised all over again – "Oi, no fighting 'til I've had another Pumpkin Spice!" Honestly, my friends were a bunch of children.

My cousin was no exception either. He was currently on his knees in the corner playing some kind of game. Not a drinking game; that'd be too mature for that particular seventh year. This was the kind of game that involved rolling a die, pulling a brick from a stack, throwing a ball, and then miming a spell for the other players to guess. It was the type of game only Ravenclaws and geniuses (aka Al) bothered to learn the rules of.

At least he'd turned up, though. Better than could be said of Scorpius.

"Still not showed?"

A hand clasped on my shoulder, and Merlin, I was about to jump out of my skin. That happened quite a lot, I'd noticed. Diane thought it was a sign that I shouldn't become an Auror. Frankly, I thought my clumsiness took care of that non-ambition quite enough on its own.

I turned and glared; "He's not going to, Anwen. I told you."

"Hey, Wood. Finnegan's over there looking slutty..." she told him. "And Lily's been asking after you, Moores. I'd get on that while the middle Potter's distracted."

The boys pretty much fled at that. That left me alone with Anwen, the nosy wench.

"He'll show up," she said simply.

Ha! Easy for her to say: the first boy she'd ever had a crush on had been mad for her. They'd been together since third year, and now he was off at the Ministry somewhere and sending her a letter a day. Not great long cheesy love letters either; she'd picked one of the good ones who told her she probably looked gorgeous, but stop being such a git/drunk/cow and write back/study/apologise to whoever. Wish someone could know me as well as Zabini knew Anwen.

"I saw you receive a letter yesterday..." she ventured.

"My mum." That's all the reply she was going to get. No one knew what exactly my mother's letters concerned, just that I didn't enjoy reading them.

"Do we need to get you drunk?" she asked. Bloody fantastic, that girl.

I hesitated. Firewhisky sounded great, if I was honest. My mother's words, written in that neat calligraphy that made everything look so pristine and bloody wonderful, were still playing on my mind: _You're so much like your father, Rose, that I worry for you_.

That wasn't fair.

She tried her best, I knew she did; and most parents had blinders like that, right? You know, the ones that prevent them seeing the bile they're spewing. The ones that don't let them realise that their daughter doesn't want to know their mother had once been pregnant with another man's child.

What if she'd gone through with it, what then? Where did she get off telling her eldest how close she'd come to never existing? I didn't even get a man's name to focus my disgust on, just a description so vague she might as well have shagged a Hippogriff. _Exotic and handsome_, she'd written. _Someone she hadn't seen since the night she'd turned down his proposal_.

Some day, very soon, I was going to crack. We'd see how averse she was to psychiatrists then.

For now, as Anwen well knew, there was the savior of drink.

Yet as much as I was tempted by the thought of drowning in alcohol for the rest of the evening, I was on a mission that night. If I was going to decipher my best mate's feelings, I wasn't going to be inebriated when the occasion called.

If the occasion called at all.

"I shouldn't, not 'til Scorp shows up," I said begrudgingly. "Ask again in an hour though."

"If you're sure," she grinned. Giving my hair a good ruffle (did I say she was fantastic? I lied), she flounced away. Literally flounced. Bet she'd already downed a couple goblets of Gillywater already.

Sighing, I leant back into the sofa cushions and closed my eyes. I was feeling more and more ridiculous as the night wore on. It probably hadn't meant anything to him – he hadn't acted any differently the entire week in class. Granted, I'd no idea if he'd have been different outside of lessons since I'd taken to avoiding him, but the point remained. If anything, I'd place money on him being disgusted by what we'd done.

That was a lie. I'm a decent kisser, I've been told.

And he thought I had a nice arse, I reminded myself with a smirk.

Suddenly, I was in shade.

"Looking a little shifty there, Rose," came his smarmy, stupid voice. So now he had the decency to show? Opening my eyes slightly, I noted (not as unhappily as I would have liked) that he looked nothing short of dapper in his dress shirt. He always looked so put together, and there I was dressing most of the time like a pauper's apprentice.

"Maybe I'm up to something," I found myself saying.

"Really?" He was humouring me, the wanker. What did he know? I could be evil, for all he knew – I could be the reincarnation of You-Know-Who and he might not have a bloody clue. I could... okay, no I couldn't. And I wasn't happy he knew that too.

"I'm just tired," I settled on. "It's been a long week, and we have to be up at 8 tomorrow for practice."

"Sucks to be you," he laughed. I just nodded.

"Drink?" he offered, holding a bottle out to me. My lips twitched. It was a nice gesture; Scorpius wasn't known for nice gestures.

Fingers brushed slightly as I reached to take the drink.

Eyes met, startled, as a small jolt raced up my arm and caught my breath.

He leant down. I rose up.

And then we were at it again.

Bloody hell. The bottles had been set aside and now his fingers were lighting flames as they trailed up and down the back of my neck. I could smell his cologne, that slightly spicy taste mixing perfectly with his own unique scent of... soap? Bugger, I'm a sucker for a clean smelling guy.

My mind gave into a contented buzzing, all train of thought lost to the sensation of his hands and lips all over my skin. It was better than I remembered – _he _was better than I remembered – and I couldn't help but wonder what it meant that this time there was none of that sharp tang of whiskey breath.

Hadn't seen him with his tongue down Finnegan's throat this time either.

As he bent lower to nibble on my neck gently (_Merlin!_), I couldn't contain an almost inaudible whimper. I knew there was a reason I'd been craving this feeling all week. Never before had I understood how a girl's legs could 'turn to jelly' under the effect of a mere kiss – snogging was fun, no doubt about it, but it had never felt like _this_. I might have been sitting down, but this was like melting.

"Scorp?" I asked, tearing myself away just for a moment.

"Mmm?" His lips were having fun around my collarbone; probably wasn't even listening.

"Oi, Scorp, seriously," I tried again.

"Rose, just shut up a second will ya?" he growled, stopping his ministrations to stare into my eyes. Little flecks of blue interspersing all that silver; even his eyes were perfect.

Then his lips were back on mine again, but different. This wasn't like any other kiss – there was no urgency, no hair-pulling or strong grip. This one was slow, gentle. Like a chocolate cauldron.

No, that was a crap analogy. But it was that intoxicating, that mind-numbing.

I hadn't been kissed like this, like the person cared for me, since McLaggen.

And that was a bucket of ice water pouring over me if anything was.

"Scorpius, please stop," I said softly, turning my head so that we were no longer attached.

He gave me one of those looks, the 'you're mental' look I was so used to.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and he sounded so confused that I almost caved.

"What are we doing?"

He shrugged. "I thought I was snogging my really fit best mate like I've been wanting to all week."

Crap. I was putty in the hands of that kind of sweet-talk.

"Fancy getting out of here?" I said boldly, running my tongue over my lips. That couldn't just be my imagination, could it, the way his eyes grew darker?

"Lead the way, gorgeous."

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**A/N** Thank you to anyone who's reading this. If you're enjoying it, or if you think it's crap, give it a review? And if you like Teddy/Victoire, Fred/Hermione, or OC/James S. Potter stories, I've a couple recently posted that you can find on my profile. They're all pretty different to this one (the language is less coarse, for one). Anyway, this is a nice little stress reliever of a story. And yes, we're still following true events almost to a tee, save for the magic. Have a good day!


	4. Of Quidditch and Good Ol' Best Mates

**A/N **Hi readers. I don't like posting these things at the start, but this is a necessary front-note to let you know there have been some small tweaks made to earlier chapters. It's mostly grammar and spelling mistakes, and nothing concerning the plot-line up to the end of the last chapter, but some content is slightly different. It shouldn't affect too much of your understanding of this chapter, but have a look at the revisions if something seems out of sync. And if anyone fancies being a beta-reader to stop this happening again, I'd be much obliged - I'd need turnover of under 24 hours!

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**Chapter 4: Of Quidditch and Good Ol' Best Mates**

The following morning, there was no rude awakening by Al. Probably because I woke up to the sound of my own alarm, in my own bed – alone. I'd left after only an hour or so of delicious kissing. Scorp hadn't seemed too bothered about the early nightcap.

There wasn't long before I had to meet the team down on the pitch, so any chance of looking any way half decent was out the window. Hair tied up hastily, trackies pulled on (fingers-crossed they weren't backwards this time; I hadn't the time to check).

Socks. Trainers.

Out.

Five minutes to get from the tower to the fields without being caught running in the corridors. My morning was destined to be haphazard from the offset.

As it happened, there weren't any teachers prowling about at such an absurdly early hour for a Saturday. For once, they appeared to be appreciating a lie in as much as their students. I didn't blame them – it was frosty in the corridors.

Rubbing my hands furiously against each other, I picked up my speed. Any other year, I'd adored my role as Keeper. I didn't have the stress of high-adrenalin chases like the outfield players – I got to sit back and relax. Our Chasers had been the envy of the school the year before, so there had been barely a need to make a move in some matches.

This year, I needed to be better. I needed to stop letting in six bloody goals to the bloody Puffs, else we'd be slaughtered later on.

_Move on_, I reminded myself, _calm down_. James had been brilliant at stopping my self-berating when he'd been captain last year. Wood? He wasn't so invested in my feelings. Great mate, but he had the emotional range of a teaspoon.

I was almost there now, just a short jog across the crunchy, frosted grass. My breaths were lingering in front of me in a way that had me giggling quietly to myself.

Rounding the final corner, I could see a couple of nice arses poking out from the door of the broom shed: "Oi oi, Moores, Diane!" I called cheerily.

What can I say? Scorpius' kisses had me in an alright mood.

"Rose, come help us with the crate?"

"I'm a weakling and you know it, Moores!" I laughed. And I truly was; that crate was way outside my range of 'comfortable lifting'. It weighed more than me! We'd gone so far as to prove that in fifth year, when I'd first joined the team and was a waif of a thing – I'd spent the summer avoiding meals so as to avoid my parents, and it had had a serious effect on my waistline.

It had been the first of September after fifth year where I had met Edith, truth be told. She'd been a Ravenclaw the year above, decent friends with James and Fred and Roxanne (my favourite three cousins, but don't tell them that). It had been their idea for the two of us to end up sitting together on our own on the train journey to Hogwarts. She'd been through eating disorders before, and was a real help.

I owed her a lot, that Edith Davies. She'd sat next to me at dinners, forced me to loosen up a wee bit. It was because of her I was mates with the lads in the tower, because of her I'd started talking to Scorpius.

She'd been my first girl-kiss, too. We'd never gone out, just flirted harmlessly. And when I'd been curious what it be like to kiss a girl, she'd been the natural person to ask. Quite nice, was the answer – a lot... tidier than kissing a bloke. Not enough that I'd ever thought of dating a girl, but it was a merry distraction.

I was a fan of distractions.

With that thought, I made a note-to-self: see if Eddie would be free to come visit the next time students could go down to Hogsmeade.

Unaware of my own feet, I'd ended up following Diane and Moores onto the pitch without having to lift a wand or a finger. Just as well; I was enjoying being lost in thought.

"...lots of drills today... our free throws were dire... beaters aiming for each other..." Only parts of Wood's pre-session speech were registering in my mind. Looking around at my teammates, almost all of whom were yawning and slouching, I doubted I was the only one not listening.

We were stood in a circle, Wood standing directly to my right, with Moores to my left. They were our two Beaters, and were fairly good. Ever the traditionalist, Wood had made it his goal to become a professional, just like his dad. And Moores was just plain brutish when he put his mind to his – there were some great arm muscles on the boy. So our Beaters were good.

Then across from me stood Diane, our Seeker. She was a whippet on a broom, bloody quick and had the best reactions of any Seeker in the school.

Our only problem were our Chasers: Katya, Mack and Charlie. I knew why Wood wanted drills: he'd picked those three promising looking fourth and fifth years for the positions (damn James for choosing three who'd graduated!), and they just hadn't managed to click yet.

"Red!" barked Wood. My hand flew to my forehead in a salute before I knew what I was doing. My teammates, lovely people, charming people really, started laughing. Merlin, I needed to begin thinking before acting.

"Red," he said again, glaring at anyone who'd even tittered. I felt for the poor guy, I truly did. He'd no control over us when he scheduled this ludicrously early practices. "Just go run the Chasers through free throws, aye?"

"Right-y-o, C'tain," I smirked, kicking off from the ground good and fast before he could aim an elbow at me. Dutifully, the diddy-ones (ignoring the fact that both Mack and Charlie were almost a head taller than me) copied my actions.

Gathering them around the goal posts like a flock of wee ducklings, I launched into my own inspirational spiel.

"Three passes between ya, then shoot at me. We'll just do that 'til Wood looks a little less purple, okay?"

So not as rousing a speech as perhaps I could have given, considering the amount of work that needed to be done. The seemed to get the message though.

For about fifteen minutes.

"Mack, you're supposed to catch it ya eegit!" I heard Charlie yell. The kid was tall and built like a house. He was also a bit egotistical, but then most Quidditch players were.

"Shut your trap, Charlie," was Mack's not entirely witty reply. He was the typical no-nonsense Scottish boy born to play the game without the fancy tricks: Charlie's complete opposite.

"I'll shut your –"

"BOYS!"

Thank Merlin for Katya. She was speeding toward them, hands on her hips and glaring something terrifying. Seriously, her near-black eyes looked deadly.

I imagined it should have been me flying in to break up an impending fight, but Katya was better suited for the job. We'd learnt in the first week that the two boys would do quite a lot for our dark haired Russian bullet if she batted her eyelashes the right way.

"Will you shhsh yourselves, please!" she was shouting. "Rose there looks so ill, and you're acting like children."

I took back every nice thought I'd had about the girl. We couldn't always look perfect in the morning with gorgeous foreign genes. Some of us were wrecks from dawn to bed; it didn't mean we should mistaken for being poorly. Maybe it was my posture, I wondered. Could equally well have been the pasty skin.

"Thank you, Katya," I muttered, trying to regain control. She smiled sweetly at me and I struggled to tell if it was sincere, or if she'd been trying to take a dig in the first place.

Dammit, I was getting paranoid.

"No problem, boss," voice like melted sugar.

"Your goal-scoring's alright, guys," I announced. "Work on catching while I go ask something of Wood. Just... play a game of moving catch. String together twenty complete passes and I'll get you in a round at The Three Broomsticks."

And I flew away.

Have you ever felt like giving into the Muggle notion of witches cackling as they travelled through the air by broom? It's a bloody tempting idea sometimes. I'd done it once, back when I was younger and I'd booted the ball from my goal through the hoops opposite on a Kid-Quidditch pitch. It had been a beautiful goal, one I'd seen scored by the Tornados Keeper just a few weeks prior. Naturally, I took off on an unprecedented lap of honour, crowing and screeching maniacally and bloody loving it.

Mother had chastised me for acting so silly in public.

As I went into descent near Wood and Moores, the two of whom were sword fighting with their bats (over-confident tossers), the urge returned.

"Knobheads!" I called, as I approached at a gentle pace. "I need to ask you something that you can't laugh at me for."

"Intriguing," Moores snorted.

"Get your arse back to those Chasers!" Wood yelled. I chose to ignore the bugger.

"Right," I started, bring my broom to a stop and stepping onto the pitch beside them. "The thing is..."

Pause.

"Spit it out then!"

"Do I look sick to you?"

Silence.

Ask an important question and receive only dumbfounded stares in reply. My mates were useless, it was official.

"Guys?" I asked hesitatingly.

Wood was the first to offer up a response: "Are you trying to leave practice early, Red, because I won't be having it. Not even for you, not this week." Thanks, captain. Entirely useful answer, that was.

"I don't _feel _ill!" I tried to explain. "I'm just asking if I _look_ it. Katya was saying –"

"This is a girl insecurity thing, isn't it," smiled Moores. Big brother was taking over him, I thought. He'd been acting more and more protective since James and Fred had left, letting me become the little sister he'd never wanted. It was endearing, really. And convenient at times like this.

His arm wrapped itself around my shoulders and pulled me into his side in a half-hug. "You're a little peaky looking, love, but you're still our adorable little Rosie-Posie."

I jabbed a finger into his side.

"Our cute, darling Rose?"

Another jab.

"You're quite fit and you know it." Much better.

"Thanks Luke," I mumbled into his shoulder. See? Always knew what to say to cheer me up, my friends.

"Group hug!" I heard Dermot's crass Scottish accent sound a war cry, and then the three of us were on the floor in an uncomfortable heap. And chuckling.

It was nice. I wondered why my friendship with Scorp couldn't feel this simple. _Because you don't want to _snog_ them_, my conscience taunted. Which was true, to an extent. It wasn't like we hadn't in the past, but that had been a physical attraction – mostly to Wood's very, _very _impressive chest. The lad had a great chest. There hadn't been any actual feelings, not like I had for Scorpius bloody Malfoy.

It didn't help that the boy was a complication in himself. He was difficult to understand at the best of times, hiding his decent self behind sarcasm and crass humour. Barely anyone outside the Gryffindor tower spoke to him; they mostly admired his from afar and made up daydreams. Or met him in broom cupboards for a quick cuppa-feel.

That was unfair. He didn't have one-night-stands. Scorp was the upright kind of fellow who could date a girl for a over a year, fall completely, inexplicably in love. At least, he was that kind of guy until the start of this year. Ever since his big break up with Agnes Poddell back in September, he'd been taking every party as an opportunity for a kiss with some girl or other.

Seemed like I was just his next target.

How pathetic was it of me to be okay with that continuing? This was Scorpius: he wouldn't do anything I wasn't okay with. So long as I didn't ask for more, maybe I could keep getting those addictive kisses.

Bugger.

Wood was squirming underneath me as a realisation hit.

I didn't even try to argue when he cried at me to "Quit being sappy and get back to those ruddy Chasers."

I didn't have the heart.

Because you may as well have drawn up the announcements there and then: Rose Weasley was giving up all self-respect for her iddy-biddy crush on an idiotic blond.

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**A/N** Yaay, I got my first reviews on this story! I'm really grateful to anyone who's reading this. You're getting to see my own love story as it played out, with all my own thoughts and feelings and experiences (unfortunately with much more muggle sports). Everything will be explained as the story unfolds: I hope this chapter helped in some way to clear up a few of the issues mentioned in one of the reviews - the feedback was really useful, as I don't realise sometimes when what I'm leaving out is important. I hope you like the characters of Dermot Wood and Lucas Moores too. Let me know what you think, please... and in a shameless advertisement for my other stories, have a look at my profile if you like other Next Gen pairings, or Fred/Hermione stories! Lots of love x


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